The Riddler's Journal
by Ash M. Knight
Summary: Eddie's journal from a recovery center where he discusses his relationship with Poison Ivy and his love for Kyle Rayner, the Green Lantern. The Riddler/Green Lantern, The Riddler/Poison Ivy. Slash.


Dear journal,

This is my first day of therapy. I hate it here. I am currently embarking on a ninety day program at Austin Falls Recovery Center in Gotham. Home might be Ivy's couch with a tattered, dirty blanket or a barstool at the Iceberg Lounge, but it's better than this place. Apparently, I have a lot of problems. Like this is news to me! The people here treat me as if I don't know what my problems are. Now, maybe most of the patients here don't have a clue that they need help, but at least I have a healthy sense of self-awareness. Fuck it, man! I know I have issues.

Okay, so why am I here? I'm starting on this honesty kick, so it might as well begin right here and now. Virtually every problem you can think of is something I've endured at some point or another. I get it, I'm sick. It's almost unrealistic, just how many disorders I have. It's unreal. The counselors and doctors here tell me that's more common than I would think, though, and I do believe them about that. It may seem weird to me, but I guess many disorders walk hand in hand and can influence or lead to another. Anyway. What landed me here was my Bulimia and my OCD. I wash my hands up to 500 times a day, when it's bad, and when I started washing with bleach, my friends told me I needed the help. It's hard for me to keep my food down. I know I'm not fat, but it doesn't stop me from feeling that way. I get why all this happens, I just can't make it stop. They monitor everything I eat here.

Now, I don't drink or do drugs. I hate to lose control of myself. I've had a bit of a run-in with cutting. But, really, my major problem is my OCD. I'm almost all right with my Bulimia, since it's not really extreme (at least not yet.) Sometimes it feels like it's getting worse, though.

In any case, it blows to be here. I miss the comfort of the daily grind. I want to go home, even if home is a shithole. I'd sleep in a sewer just to get rid of this shit. I wish I could just do my job. I wish I could just reach my potential as a villain and show that bastard Batman what I'm really made of. We'll see, though. Maybe this bullshit will actually help. Here's hoping.

Edward

Dear journal,

It's been a few days... I thought I would update. In my private sessions we've been talking about what's "comfortable" in my life – where I feel safe. It's upsetting to think about it and to admit it, but in the past few days I've realized that that's all part of the addiction and the problem. It feels safe, so I don't want to stop, even if it's actually bad for me. Before I can tackle the physical manifestations of my problems, I have to address the emotions that are really at the root. I feel lonely. Part of the reason that I do puzzles and set up all these riddles for Batty and his crew to solve is because I need the attention. I need the contact with other people, constantly.

I guess that's why I've been staying with Ivy. I hate her dirty couch and sheets and home, but she has a point when she tells me it's literally just dirt and not nasty germs. But I stay there anyway. I don't love her – even she knows that – but we're still in a relationship, or at least we were, because it's where we both feel safe. Coming home to that regularity is something that helps fuel my addictions and compulsions.

I talked to my therapist about the sex, too, even though it was awkward. I'm not into anything weird or kinky. I'm pretty boring in the sack, really. But I'm not fast, either. I don't rush through it just for the climax. I guess I do it to feel connected to someone, even if it's not really love. Every day when I get home, we have sex on her bed. I don't sleep with her at night, but we're intimate when I get home. There's no romance or foreplay. Just the sex, which I drag out for as long as possible. I don't even enjoy it. I just do it because I feel like I have to. It's the only way I know how to connect with another person. I'm off to dinner for now, though. More later. Wish me luck.

Edward

Dear journal,

My therapist thinks I might be addicted to sex, and so do I. Originally, I thought it wasn't about the climax. I guess it really is. The climax is the only way I feel like I've done something good. I've done it right, if I'm cumming. It makes me feel accomplished. It makes me feel like I did something the right way. What I'm addicted to isn't just feeling like I'm connected to another person, it's that feeling I get when I cum. I feel like I'm worth something.

We're not supposed to be sexual active at all during the course of treatment. I realized that I had a problem today when I went into my room after lunch and beat off for an hour. My hands are raw and I'm red and sore down there. I met with my therapist and we talked about it for a while, but I'm scared about it, which is why I'm venting.

I guess that's what I cheat. I guess I just don't know how to deal with or relate to people at all, and fucking is just the only way I can feel good about myself and feel like I'm important in someone else's life. I don't know what love is, but I know that I want it, which is partly why I'm so frustrated with this whole thing. I know my deal with Ivy is no good for either of us, especially since I can't be faithful to her. I have no real feelings for her; I just miss the sex and the comfort of the "relationship."

Before I beat off today, I was thinking about what happened with Kyle. I've cheated on Ivy plenty of times – shit, she doesn't even seem to care – and it hardly ever mattered. That shit last summer with Jack wasn't anything. Just a quick fuck. Just a fling. But whenever I'm alone, whenever it's quiet and I'm not busy, my mind keeps going back to that night on the tower of the church where Kyle pinned me down against the shingles of the roof. I can still feel his weight pressed against me, the way his toned muscles rippled like a Spartan's armor.

I think of his dark, soft hair, falling into his eyes as the rain came down. The way his pink lips touched my shoulder as we struggled with each other's bodies. I was so embarrassed, so exposed, when he shoved me down and started to touch me. I hated everything he was doing, and my heart was beating so quickly I thought it would burst. I was scared. Some stupid hero was about to violate me. Had it been a villain, it wouldn't have been so shameful. But I couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't get away, as his hands slipped inside the top of my pants. I felt the fabric slowly pull down, the metal of the button and the zipper pressing against me through the fabric of my boxers as it dragged down. It hurt, but I bit my lip to keep quiet.

I don't want to say I was scared, but that's the only way to describe it. I'd never had someone so good do something so terrible to me. As Kyle wrestled to keep me still, I feel his erection pressing into my thigh. The more I thrashed, the harder it got and the tighter he pressed it against me. My hands gripped the roof as tightly as they could as I felt him start to unzip his pants. At first, he just sort of rested himself on top of me, feeling my skin against his. Then he started to push my legs apart and slide himself between them, brushing up against my thighs. I shivered, feeling the size of him and anticipating the pain and shame that was about to follow, but he stopped and started to stroke my shoulders.

"Eddie," he whispered. "I've been waiting months to catch you like this."

I couldn't talk – I was too embarrassed – but I was blushing. He'd been watching me, specifically, and he cared enough to know my name. When he finally made love to me, he was surprisingly gentle, and it felt so good that I couldn't continue to fight him. I gave in. This guilt scarred me, and it's all I've been able to think about. That night was something so different from anything else I've ever felt or experienced that I haven't been able to let it go. Sticking with the honesty kick, I've been dying to see him. I'm still struggling with it. I can't wait for this shit to be over.

Edward

Dear journal,

It's finally over. I don't feel healed, but I feel better. I feel calm. I feel ready to face my life again. I called Ivy today and ended it. I don't know where I'm going to stay. I'm anxious about it, but I feel like I can handle this. I feel like I have somewhat of a better hold on things, but I need closure with Kyle. I'm going to break into his place tonight to talk to him. Plan B is to cause a scene so horrific he can't stay away. It will allow me to let the fantasy in my head go, regardless of how the situation plays out.

If sparks fly, I can start living in the moment. If they don't, I can let the moment go. I'm looking forward to being a degree more normal than I was, and I'm thankful for treatment. I guess we'll just have to wait and see where I end up from here!

Eddie


End file.
